


Fucking Robin

by orphan_account



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: BDSM, Begging, Costumes, Daddy Kink, Gunplay, Identity Porn, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conner asks Tim to wear the Robin costume. Jason is not told beforehand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fucking Robin

**Author's Note:**

> Misogynistic slurs and ableist language tw. I made this for my boyfriend a long time ago and then I re-read it and decided it was good enough to share with people. So. Here you go.

They've fallen into a rhythm. Most relationships do. It's not boring in the slightest--that'd be impossible, Tim Drake-Wayne thinks, as he can't picture any sort of relationship with Superboy or the infamous Red Hood /alone/ being boring. But it has a rhythm.

Conner Kent, the Superboy in question, asks Jason for something. He gets an idea in his head. He wants something different. He wants something a certain way. And he asks for it. In the beginning, he would ask Tim as well. That doesn't happen anymore. And in retrospect it seems like an unnecessary, almost bureaucratic step. Jason has the final word, after all. The more important word, maybe. If Jason says no, it doesn't happen. If Jason says yes... he has his ways of convincing Tim, ways that sometimes involve Conner in ways that Conner would never think of by himself. It's simple really. Cut out the middle man. Get to the sexy bits. Everybody's happy. 

Tim's convinced himself he's so okay with the de facto arrangement that he's honestly surprised with Conner comes to him with a request. The surprise vanishes when he hears what the request /is./

The funny thing is, he didn't say yes for Conner's sake. He didn't care about Conner's puppy-dog pout, the way his eyes pleaded, the tinge of already present regret and guilt just for saying the words "old costume"--not even voicing the real question at this point. Not that he had to. Conner Kent is about as subtle as a brick to the face. 

He tells himself, putting on a painstakingly /organized/ outfit, something that would hide the "old costume" perfectly without looking suspicious or being insufferably hot, that this is not an act out of spite or malice. This is simply a show of one-upsmanship. But, looking himself in the mirror on the way out to Jason's lovingly labeled "shitty piece of fuck" apartment, hoping that his outfit is /symbolically/ but not too /visually/ similar to the one Jason wore the night that they first met, Tim has no presumptions that Jason will be anything but furious. In the back of his mind... /Robin/ (at least for the night) knows that's exactly the reaction he's hoping for.

Jason always starts off just watching. He tells them what to do, nurses a beer of a brand he feels a little too old and wayward for, but doesn't care enough to get out anything harder. Conner always ends up naked before Tim. Perhaps it's because he starts out with less clothes than Tim--somehow always shirtless before Tim even gets there... or maybe because his physique is clearly and objectively the most flawlessly, miraculously perfect of the group. Whatever the case, Conner's hands are now behind his back, not tied, not cuffed, just behind his back, crossed at the wrist as if Jason's words really bound them there in that position, and he sits on the edge of the bed, as his tongue flickers against Tim's, a slightly moan escaping him at all the attention in Jason's drawl and Tim's touch that he's incapable of getting used to. There's something arousing about being the only one with everything on the table in the room, or there /must/ be, Tim supposes, because Conner's already getting hard. Either that, or Conner has some particular expectations about how the night is going to proceed. Tim would feel bad for dashing them with his own plans, but Jason spits out a command for where and how exactly his Replacement should be touching his Supertoy, and suddenly Tim doesn't feel nearly as bad. But he waits, and he does as he's told. His hands trail across Conner's thighs, they scrape across his back, Conner tries to keep control of himself, struggles to keep his breath even, his hands crossed. He does well with it, and Tim knows it's only because Jason is really, really fucking good at this. Probably better than Tim would ever be, and somehow the costume beneath the costume seems to pinch at his skin.

So when Jason tells him to take off his clothes, slowly, so "Daddy" can see, and "Don't you fucking move, kid" is uttered to Conner who nods enthusiastically with a whine, even though he already technically knows this order, he knows that if he moves he'll be punished, Tim obeys with a different kind of enthusiasm than Conner. Conner's sort of Tim's opposite, in a way. Conner wants the praise. Conner wants to please. Tim wants to hurt. Tim wants to be punished. 

Tim doesn't turn to look as he steps out of his pants, revealing the tights beneath. He doesn't turn to look as he pulls off his top, and the cape flutters behind him. Like it was made to. It's Tim's, after all. It was made for him. Tim doesn't have to look behind him to know Jason's reaction. Jason's silent. Conner's mumbling has come to a stop, and the look of pure hope and excitement, too, is apparently silenced when he looks into Jason's eyes.

"What are you wearing?" Jason wishes his words came out clever, or snarky, or brash. They come out soft and mean, an interesting combination, but not the one he was going for.

"My costume." There's the slightest emphasis on the "my" and Conner's eyebrow raises, at the emphasis, maybe, or at Jason's reaction to it, more likely, and Conner's mouth is still agape, Tim still looks firmly down at him.

"I said to take off your clothes."

"I did." And it's strange, Tim thinks, that Jason is still seated. He doesn't think he's even shifted in his chair. "This is my costume, not my clothes. I would think you would know the difference."

"Turn around." /Robin/ does as ordered, swishing around in all his red, yellow, and green glory. He wets his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, his eyes drink in every inch of Jason.

Jason's not as good at Poker Faces without the mask on. His muscles are tensed. His brow is furrowed, the beer can doesn't shake in his hand, but looks far more compressed than when Tim originally turned. He is not confused, perhaps the time for that has passed, but Robin never expected him to be. Robin is smart. Robin is diligent. Robin knows all about his predecessor's failings and his complex because of them. It's a slap in the face, that Robin would wear this costume in Jason's own home, without Jason telling him to (not that he /ever/ would), without Jason consenting (not that he ever would), without a discussion ever taking place (not that it would end well). Robin looks into Jason's eyes and challenges them with false innocence and false ignorance, blankness without a smile, blankness without pretense. Robin is playing the fool, or maybe the child that doesn't understand how much he's upset the person that cares for him. Jason knows exactly what he's doing, and it makes his blood boil. 

It feels like years have passed for Conner, and suddenly he feels very selfish, and very alone, like he's entered a territory he was not supposed to, and he knows in the back of his mind, this was and in his fault. Jason and Robin's staring contest continues onward, Conner's hands are still crossed behind his back, though he knows he is no longer at the forefront of anyone's attention, and this, in truth makes him sadder than it should.

"It's not your costume." Jason says, slowly. The words feel foreign on his lips. It's not Tim's costume. Robin does not belong to Tim. Rage begins to fill every portion of his stomach that the beer has not yet touched, and some it has. For all his "replacement" jibes, he had felt that Tim and he had finally reached an understanding through sex and Supertoy, and although Jason was bitter, always, always bitter, it had been enough to keep the blinding rage away. "It's not your fucking costume." The words come out quicker now, and the beer slams against the side of the wall. Robin doesn't flinch. Conner does, and this makes Jason even more furious, as if he can see his actions only through someone else's eyes, and in that flinch he sees his arm extend, and doesn't just hear the slosh of the aluminum against the wall, the clicking of it against the wooden floor, cheap alcohol pouring from the opened tab, he sees him throw it. Blinding rage would be easier, maybe. Seeing your anger and feeling some sort of perverse shame for something so very justified and right... is hard. But Jason is still in charge, he knows. And he will take control of this situation the way he sees fit.

"Excuse me?" Robin says, the picture of politeness, the poster child for poster children. And the gun against the table to the right side of Jason's chair isn't loaded, but Robin,--no, Tim, it's just fucking /Tim/--doesn't know that. (Or maybe he does, but you can kill a little boy in a costume with less than a bullet, and all three of them know that.) Jason unseats himself, gloriously, so fast and right on the ball of Robin--TIM'S--words that Conner could've sworn in that moment Jason was the real meta in the room, picks up the gun by the handle and swings it across Robin--TIM--'s face so hard, it /bangs/ and in that moment, Conner heard it louder than any gunshot. Robin looks positively shocked at first, as it physical retaliation from The Red Hood had never crossed his mind. He hold his hand against his jaw and lips, blood seeping slowly into his palm as he bends over and to the side, before straightening his back and looking back at Jason with a smile, his cheek already swelling.

"I think you can do better than that, 'Daddy.'" It's surreal. It's honestly and utterly surreal. Tim /never/ calls him Daddy. And that's not. Tim's. /Fucking/. Costume. Conner's all wild eyes and bewilderment, his hands finally move to touch /Robin/ as if this will somehow break the spell. Robin and Jason both glare down at him, and after a silent squeeze from /his/ Robin's hand on his shoulder, that Jason resents so much more than he wants to, Conner is reassured, and places his hands back behind his back.  
"No, no, no, no, Conner. He's right. I can do /so/ much better." Jason grabs Robin by the throat, the little freak's body lifting to tiptoe, the bird's breath coming out in strangled moans, now, and isn't it interesting, that even with all Bruce's adjustments to the costume, it still manages to hide absolutely fucking nothing. "Get out the lube and the condoms." Jason growls, and Conner obeys, though, being more than a bit frazzled, it takes him longer than anticipated, and he's only rewarded with another glare. He swallows as Jason pushes his boyfriend back on to the bed. "Hands and knees, facing me."

Tim takes his sweet, sweet time, Conner almost shaking while he does so, Jason absolutely livid, and Tim can see that. Still, he pushes more. "Call me Robin."

Jason's still holding the gun, and it packs just as much of a wallop to the other cheek, Robin sputters out blood, and his arms almost buckle beneath him. SuperDumbass moves to pet his back, but Jason just narrows his eyes at him, and Tim mumbles something about it being alright. Jason has to let him, rolling his eyes.

"Roll down Pretty Boy's panties." He says, hand moving down to grab Robin's face harshly and looking him straight in the eyes. "How long did you want him to do that before he came to me, huh?" Tim bites his lip as his ass is exposed to the stagnant air of the apartment. Conner doesn't touch more than he's allowed, Jason nods at him to start lubing up his fingers.  
"Did it make my little replacement sad, hm? Angry, maybe? That maybe your little boyfriend needed something that you couldn't give him? The same thing you want, really." Conner looks at Jason expectantly. "No. I want to hear him beg for you." Jason's eyes don't leave Robin's. "Beg for your boyfriend's attention, slut. That's what you did this for, isn't it? Or..." He smirks a little, his eyes widening in mock surprise. "Was it for mine?" He grabs Tim by the hair, whose looked away in the brief pause, and pulls. "Start begging."

"Conner." Robin says, and Jason is absolutely pleased with the way he says it, misplaced professionalism cracking at the seams like a worn-down yellow cape. "Touch me." Conner's got the deer-in-headlights look still going on, but Robin's voice and his words are doing a number on his cock, and Jason can tell the boy's a little pleased to be back closer to the center of the ring. Jason makes a movement to pull his hair again, and Robin continues. "I need you, Conner." Jason tuts, he can do /so/ much better! How long has he had a crush on Superbrat again? As if Tim can read his thoughts, or perhaps because being Robin really does give you magic, he continues. "I want you inside me, Conner. I want to feel so full it hurts." Jason shakes Tim's head until he's looking back into his eyes. Tim's slight trip to the obscenely, erotically honest truth comes to a close, but at least Jason gets to see the challenging look on his face when Robin says, "I always have. Please."

"Well, he did say please." Jason nods back to Conner, who's, as expected, beside himself with the confession. He spreads apart Tim's cheeks, and lets the first finger slide around Tim's tight, pink ring of muscle. They both shiver, and Jason begins to un-do his pants, one hand still on the gun, Tim's head drooping as if it doesn't know how to hold itself up anymore.

"Hurry it up, Conner. He wants your dick, not your fingers." Jason's belt slaps against the floor, and Conner finally presses the finger in, slowly, his eyes closed, and Jason, as always, does not suppress the eye roll. Robin bites his bottom lip as he tries to relax himself the way Jason taught him to, but Jason's far more concerned with his boxers as he pushes them down to his ankles and reveals his own impressive length. Tim's eyes widen as if he's never seen it before, and to be honest, Jason's not sure he's seen it two inches from his face yet, but he's sure when Tim has it firmly lodged in his mouth, he'll get used to it fast. Jason's hard, and he's not sure if it's because he's angry, or because there's blood still drizzling out of Tim's mouth. He gets Conner to throw him a condom. Tim's smart enough to know where this is going, and his head bends down ever so slightly, a grunt escaping him as Conner adds the second finger, but he's also smart enough to know not to touch Daddy's cock without permission, which means Jason has free reins to shove that cock inside Robin's mouth, his hand gripping the back of his neck.

Tim's never sucked Jason off before, but he knows how. Jason's the one who taught him how to give head--on Conner of course, and the bastard seemed to enjoy it--after all. But Jason's still surprised at how good he is, he takes to it well, takes /initiative/ even, bobbing his head in between vicious thrusts of Jason's hips.

"He's ready, Conner." And Conner doesn't have to be told twice. He rolls the condom on to his member, and lets the head enter slowly. Tim hisses, before bucking back with need, and Jason grabs him by the hair. "This isn't about what you want, anymore." Conner pushes in nice and slow, his rhythm painfully soft, and Jason knows that if Tim wasn't gagging on Jason right now, blood-stained saliva dripping from perfectly pink lips, he would be begging right now, and no one would have told him to.

Jason turns to his gun for the briefest of moments, before noticing a smear of blood. He turns to Conner, both of their hips bucking, both of them starting to pant, before demanding he lick it off. "Your boyfriend got my gun dirty." He holds it out languidly before the Superboy. "Suck."  
Conner beams, leaning forward against Tim's back, ushering out a "Yes, thank you, Daddy," and runs his tongue across the bottom of the barrel before taking as much as he can in his mouth.

Jason smirks at the obedience, the enthusiasm, and the feel of the back of Tim's throat. As if to take advantage of Jason's brief moment of bliss, Tim shifts beneath them, his left hand moving to palm at his leaking cock. Jason slams his fist down on Robin's back, and Robin coughs on Jason's cock, removing his hand. The vibrations and titillatingly new sensation is enough to send Jason over the edge. He comes white-hot with a grunt, and finally pulls out of Tim's mouth, who immediately begins to beg.

"Jason. Jason, I need to come. Jason, please. I need--I need." Jason rips the gun out of Conner's mouth. He smashes his lips against Robin's.  
"What are you going to do for /me/?" He asks simply, the taste of blood now filling his own mouth.

"Anything!" Robin doesn't even have the foresight to regret the words. "Please. Jason. Make him touch me. Tell him he has to. I can't--I can't--"

"You're going to burn the costume."

"I--"

"You're going to burn the costume."

"I--"

"I said--"

"Alright! Just, Jason, please."

Jason only has to nod at Conner, before he begins to jerk Robin off with a distinct lack of elegance, too close to his own orgasm to care. Tim comes in his hand, his arms buckling beneath him, and Conner comes soon afterwards.

Aftercare is a bit tricky this time around. Tim wants to take back his words to keep his costume. Conner didn't understand anything that happened. But when Jason says the words, "No one deserves the costume anymore than me." They both get seem to get it just a little better. They do burn the costume. But only after Jason reminds Tim Bruce probably has "five thousand copies of the fucking thing in the cave he jerks off to every night."

After that, they fall back into a rhythm. Slightly different. Sometimes Tim wants things now, and he'll ask Jason for them. It's subtle, but so is Tim.


End file.
